White Rose
by Stella Dellasera
Summary: Just a little fantasy vignette. A possible unseen ending to S3E5 ("The Holly Bears A Prickle," a.k.a. "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do")


White Rose

The crisis was over. The ambulance was gone. The crowd began to disperse.

Louisa stood there, stunned by what had just taken place. She managed to find her voice. "That was brilliant." It seemed so inadequate to express what she was feeling, but she wasn't sure what she was feeling. She only knew she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Martin couldn't meet her gaze. "I'll get my bag," was all he said.

He ducked his head and went back in the front door of White Rose Cottage. He washed his hands, as she peered at him from a few steps away. He carefully draped a bit of kitchen roll over his hand, and bent to pick up the glass.

"Sorry, I … I'll do that later," Louisa said, still barely able to speak. She knelt and began to help.

Martin shrugged and together they picked at the glass. He straightened, binned the shards, and turned away. "I'll be off then," was all he said.

He moved slowly, preparing himself to walk out of her life, perhaps for good.

"You're an extraordinary man, Martin," he heard her say.

"No, I'm not," he replied, utterly defeated.

Louisa looked at him, perplexed at how he could be so commanding in a crisis, so heroic even in the face of his psychological disability, and yet so helpless when it came to relationships. And not just emotional relationships. What am I going to do with him? she thought.

Wearily, he turned away and picked up his medical bag and the portable defibrillator, pausing, looking to delay his departure even just one more moment. That's when it came to him, a last desperate move.

"Marry me."

"What was that?"

He put down the cases and turned around. "Please Louisa. I can't bear to be without you. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said, tearfully, breathlessly. "Yes, Martin I will."

She ran to him and leapt into his arms. He was elated. Yes! He finally got it right. He hugged her, blinking back his own tears of relief and joy.

She landed on her feet again and looked up at him adoringly.

He had dreamt of this moment but before had no idea how to get to it. Suddenly everything fell into place. What next, he wondered. Should he sweep her off her feet and carry her upstairs? Was that too presumptuous?

Sensing his hesitation, she put her arm through his and guided him gently to the settee.

"Louisa," he said. Her heart sank. This was where things always went wrong. She laid her finger on his lips. "Hush, don't say anything. Do you hear me?"

Her finger still on his lips, he nodded, his eyes wide. She leaned in and kissed him softly. She slid her hand to caress his cheek, then moved it downward to loosen his tie. She pulled his jacket off him, then pulled the tie free and dropped it to the floor. She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, all the way down to his belt. He submitted meekly, his pale blue-grey eyes still wide. Really he was like a child, waiting to be told what to do, she thought.

She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him. He sank backward into the cushions. She straddled his hips, feeling the sleeping giant stir beneath her. She quickly forgot any thought of him as child-like. She pulled his shirt loose, unbuckled his belt, pulled the zip down. She began to unbutton her cardigan, and he finally, slowly, reached up to take over, easing it off her shoulders, slipping her camisole up and off, caressing the white lace bra she had put on this morning never imaging he would ever see it. His huge hands delicately broke open the front bra clasp, and slid the straps back and off, then undid the button on her jeans.

He shifted around to get from under her, took off his shirt, vest, and trousers, leaving him in only a pair of light blue plaid boxers. She could see his body was pale and blond all the way down. She smiled and stroked him through the cloth. Ooh, silky cotton, she thought, Martin does like his secret comforts. The fabric felt so good she rubbed her face against it, grasping him by the hips. He gasped and pushed her down, pulling off her jeans and knickers. She pulled off the boxers. He lay on top of her, kissing her with his huge mouth, moving his huge hands down to rub her and push his fingers deep inside. She sighed and stroked his huge… no doubt about it, Martin was a big man, she thought.

"Do you need protection?" he whispered. "I've got some condoms in my handbag," she replied. "I've been carrying them around since that time we got drunk together. I… I thought we'd never use them"

The handbag lay on the floor a few feet away. Martin reached out a hand, not wanting to get off her, but it was just out of reach.

There was a knock on the front door. They both froze. "Oh no, I left the door ajar," she whispered.

"Hello, anyone home?" It was P.C. Penhale. "Heard about the ambulance call. Just checking everything's been sorted."

Martin groaned. "Everything's fine," he shouted. "No need to come in any further! There's a, umm, personal consultation in progress." Louisa couldn't help letting out a little giggle at that remark. She hoped Penhale didn't hear.

"Please close the door firmly on your way out," Martin continued.

There was a pause. "OK, I get you Doc," Penhale said finally. "Say no more, _personal consultation_," he repeated in an insinuating tone.

They heard him exit and close the door. Martin got up to get the condoms and slipped one on. "Oh God, now the whole village is going to be gossiping about us," he grumbled.

"Oh, what are they going to say?" Louisa said, reaching a hand up to stroke his cheek. "That I love you?"

"Mm, yes… that I love you," he replied, and then pushed himself deep inside her.

Later, he wondered why it had been so hard for him to say those words before today.

They lay on her bed upstairs, after bathing together, newly clean, refreshed and renewed. She sat up and took the single white rose from the little vase on her night table, plucking the petals off one by one, like a child reciting "he loves me, he loves me not." Instead she said only "I love you, I love you" with each petal, dropping them one by one softly on him. They were falling like gentle snowflakes from heaven upon him, so many petals from one flower, each one like a fragrant kiss, blanketing his hair, his face, his chest, his arms and legs, all of him, and the deep red sheets all around him. He drifted off to sleep mouthing the same words as she murmured "I love you, I love you, I love you I love you Iloveyou iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou…"

In a few days, they would make love again. In a few weeks, dressed in her wedding gown, she would sit down to pour out her fears and doubts in a letter to him. A few weeks after that, she would wake up alone one sunny morning in a London bedsit, feeling so sick she had to bolt for the toilet.

But for now they snuggled together amid the scented white petals on the red sheets, dozing in each other's arms, and everything was perfect.

_The end. _


End file.
